


When the Ship Comes In

by Luka



Series: University AU [6]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 02:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19190293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: Ryan and Lester have something to celebrate, whilst Jenny gets an unexpected offer.





	When the Ship Comes In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fredbassett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/gifts).



> Long ago and far away, Rain_sleet_snow created a university AU in Primeval fanfic where Lester is deputy vice-chancellor, Ryan the head of security, Lorraine an economics lecturer and Sarah an Egyptology PhD candidate. I jumped into her sandpit, and a load of stories followed. Our stories are in the same universe, but we've kind of developed our own plot (in that there is much plot) lines! This fic is the sixth I created in the AU universe - there are more stories to follow. If you want to read Rain_sleet_snow's stories, she has them on her AO3 account under the Smart People series tag. To avoid confusion, I'm going to name my series as University AU. Original, or what! The stories are gen ones in a slash universe.

"So, in terms of coming out, it was an abject failure?" Dave 'Ditzy' Owen pushed a fresh pint of beer across the table to Ryan.

"Well, a few people noticed. Some wanker of a fashion lecturer made a disparaging comment in earshot about my off-the-peg suit. But then all the showboating and fire-starting kicked off."

"Presumably you were the only person there not wearing a toga?"

The news of the end-of-year art show, with its unorthodox costumes and explosive ending, had gone round the university like wildfire.

"Don't have the legs for it," said Ryan, opening a packet of pork scratchings and scarfing down a handful.

"Oh, I dunno," said Ditzy, waggling his eyebrows and snitching some of the snacks.

Ryan rolled his eyes. They'd been mates for years, having served together in the same Special Forces unit. Ryan would never say it, but finding a friendly face when he'd joined CMU had made the transition to civilian life that much easier. Ditzy would have accused him of going soft in the head …

"So what are you going to do? Take out an advert in the local rag? Or tell Finn – he's better than a bush telegraph."

"I think turning up together at the engineering prize-giving tomorrow night will do the trick."

Ditzy grimaced. "Good luck with that. It's pretty dire. I usually go to stop Niall Richards disembowelling a passer-by when he gets bored after the fourth speech."

"It'll be fine. I bet it's fat blokes called George from the local firms telling the students they don't know they're born and that in their day they had to dismantle a semi-conductor with a teaspoon."

"Just pray you don't have to sit next to Niall while he stares doe-eyed at Jenny Lewis."

"Don't talk daft. The lad couldn’t do doe-eyed if his life depended on it."

"True," acknowledged Ditzy, draining his pint. "He just does the psycho look instead."

"D'you reckon she knows?"

It was Ditzy's turn to roll his eyes. "Hell, no. A couple of us are taking bets on how long it takes him to invite her to his flat to see his collection of knives."

Ryan pulled out his wallet and pushed a fiver across the table. "Start of the Christmas holidays."

Ditzy grinned wolfishly and pocketed the money in a flash. "That's six months off! A fool and his money are soon parted!"

Ryan gave him the finger, then glanced at his watch. "Better go. James's meeting is supposed to end at 6.30pm."

"Have you ever been to a meeting in this place that ended on time?"

Ryan smiled briefly and shrugged his leather jacket on. "Not yet. But by the law of averages it's got to happen one day."

"Yeah? And porcines will be doing stall turns over the campus."

*~*~*~

Lester stifled a yawn. The board room seemed to get hotter every time they used it. He really must have a word with Norman about it tomorrow, although he suspected he wouldn't get anything but cryptic comments about archangels and hell. Which reminded him … He must mention again that some famous comedian who was a dyed-in-the-wool atheist was due at the university the following week to take part in a debate with the local bishop. The theology department, who all looked like Old Testament prophets and had ideology to match, had steadfastly refused to get involved, as they considered the bishop – a liberal weirdy-beardy who turned up on TV a lot – to be almost as bad as the atheist. Lester surveyed those around the table. He knew Lorraine Wickes was a confirmed humanist, but she would probably smother him in his sleep if he suggested she ought to attend and speak up on those grounds. It was tempting, but probably unfair even to liberal bishops, to unleash Mad Professor Cutter on the gathering to kneecap any creationists. Perhaps Norman could be primed to ask a gnomic question or two …

A discreet cough from the redoubtable Lorraine Wickes brought him back to the matter in hand – the last item on the agenda. Cutter, who had been allowed onto the university research committee by some blithering idiot with their brain on autopilot, was reporting back from the last meeting. His list of new research grants was interspersed with actionable comments about some of the recipients which the long-suffering administrator responsible for taking minutes had long since learned to ignore.

"And finally," said Cutter, looking like he had barely started. "Niall Richards in engineering has a grant of some sort from the Engineering and Physical Sciences Research Council."

"The knife industry of Sheffield will be rejoicing," remarked Lester wearily.

"Good publicity for the university, of course," said Miss Lewis briskly. "I'll get onto the trade papers in the morning."

"Jolly good," said Lester. She was a splendid, capable woman, but always reminded him of a Girl Guide leader. "Now, any other business, ladies and gentleman?"

Cutter was prevailed on not to expand on his slanderous comments about one of the archaeology researchers. Instead, Lester reminded those present about the comedian vs. bishop talk, and then swept out of the room before Cutter or anyone else could button-hole him about perceived slights or grievances.

*~*~*~

Ryan sat on the wall outside University House, texting Stephen Hart about their game of squash the next night. He'd never really spoken to the lad that much before the art show fiasco, but they'd struck up a tentative friendship which seemed to revolve around sport. Lorraine had said briskly that it would do them both the world of good, particularly Stephen, who seemed to be permanently glued to Cutter's side.

James appeared, looking tired. But his face broke into a smile when he saw Ryan waiting for him.

"How was the meeting?" asked Ryan, waiting while Lester got himself settled in the passenger seat of the car. Their house was within walking distance of the campus, but they were going out for dinner – a quiet and unspoken celebration of 18 months together.

"If Cutter survives to his next birthday, it'll be a miracle."

"I think you'll find the queue of people wanting to knock his block off stretches from here to Edinburgh …"

"How on earth does Dr Hart put up with him?"

"He claims Cutter's misunderstood," said Ryan, pulling out of the university car park and heading out of town towards a lovely rural pub they'd discovered by accident some months ago.

"So was Attila the Hun."

"Speaking of which, Dave Owen has opened a book on whether young Niall Richards does anything about his crush on Jenny Lewis."

"Way out of her league," said Lester dismissively. "And stop looking at me like that. He is."

"In the same way I'm probably out of yours," said Ryan evenly, overtaking a tractor which looked in danger of falling apart at any moment.

"Tom, that's not what I meant. I went to a comprehensive, for heaven's sake …"

Ryan was saved from replying by their arrival at the pub and by his phone beeping with an incoming message. He pulled into the car park and glanced at the phone – it was Stephen confirming the game of squash. And Lester having to take a call from one of his kids on the scrounge for money for a skiing trip to Italy meant they didn't have to continue the awkward conversation.

The pub was surprisingly busy for a school night, and Ryan was glad he'd reserved a table. The young waitress said it would be ready in about ten minutes, and would they like to get a drink at the bar …

"Ah, Mr Lester. And Mr Ryan, isn't it?"

Helen Cutter was sitting at a table by the fire, the remains of a meal in front of her. Opposite her, a rictus grin on his ferret-like face was Oliver Leek.

"Dr Cutter, Mr Leek …" Lester was as urbane as ever. "As they say in all the best scripts, do you come here often?"

"Oh, now and then." The wretched woman looked unbearably smug. "It looks like you gentlemen have something to celebrate."

"Don't let us disturb your meal," said Lester smoothly. "Now, if you'll excuse us …" As they walked through to the other bar, he said quietly: "Tom, I've suddenly lost my appetite. Can we have a drink, then get out of here without a song and dance?"

Ryan nodded and wandered over to the bar where he ordered a G&T for Lester and half a bitter for himself. As the waitress came over again, he said quietly: "I hope it won't be a problem, but we're going to have to go. We've received some worrying news …"

Her smooth brow furrowed. "I'm sorry to hear that. Of course it won't be a problem. We're busy tonight and the table won't stay empty for long."

"Thank you," he said, passing Lester his drink, and then leaning back against the bar where he could keep an eye on the odd couple. Well, well, wonders really would never cease …

*~*~*~

"Well, it's not what I'd call a gourmet meal, but I must admit to enjoying every mouthful," said Lester, leaning back on the bench and surveying University Square.

Ryan smiled. Anyone else would have eaten their fish and chips out of the paper, but Lester had gone into the refectory and come out with two paper plates and disposable cutlery. 

"It's not what I had in mind for tonight."

"A much more congenial setting than the pub," said Lester, toasting them with a paper cup of Diet Coke. "Sitting in the same pub as those two would have given me heartburn."

"I think we know now how Helen Cutter got nodded through as an external examiner."

"Oh, we do," said Lester. 

There was a silence as they breathed in the warm, sweet air and watched a posse of students rush across the grass, throwing a ball from one to another. Then Lester said: "I had an interesting phone call today."

"Oh?"

"A headhunting firm from London. They're looking for candidates for one of the top University of London jobs. They wanted to know if I was happy to have my name put forward."

"Which I assume you are …"

Lester nodded.

Ryan gathered his thoughts for a few moments. He'd known that Lester was destined for higher things than CMU. The question was whether their relationship would survive a move.

"Tom, it's in no way a done deal. But if I got it, would you come with me?"

Ryan didn't hesitate. "Of course I would."

Lester's smile was wide and genuine. "Thank you. Now, do we still have that rather splendid ice cream in the freezer?"

"We do."

"Excellent. Then an early night to celebrate, I feel."

Ryan smiled. That was an idea he could support fully.

*~*~*~

"Oh, that's a very interesting piece of news." Jenny Lewis sipped delicately at her cup of Lapsang Souchong and set it down, delicately patting her lips with a tissue.

"Isn't it?" Lester selected a chocolate biscuit from the plate and took a moment to enjoy it.

Claudia Brown didn't reply, instead tapping furiously on her iPad. 

"Leave it with me, James. I'm just waiting for one more person to get back to me, then we should be able to oust the wretched woman for good."

"I hope it will be soon, as the exam boards are in a fortnight and we need her out before then."

Jenny nodded, making a note in her Smythson notebook. "Now, a few last-minute arrangements for tonight's prize-giving …"

*~*~*~

"Fuck me, they all look like Eric Pickles!" 

Ryan turned a laugh into a cough. Ditzy was cock-on – the engineering prize-giving looked like something out of Hobson's Choice, which he remembered reading at school. All the great and good from the local firms were portly, red-faced chaps with suit jackets straining at the seams, rather like the Tory MP.

"I'm going to need a pint after this …"

"If I've got to stay for the buffet, so have you."

Next to Ditzy, Niall Richards muttered something under his breath and twisted a Leatherman the size of a Shetland pony round and round in his fingers.

"Speak up, Niall," said Ditzy briskly.

"Buffet's the only reason to turn up. They have to put on a good spread for all the old farts."

"Less of the old if you please, Mr Richards," said Lester briskly, gliding up behind them. "Good evening, Mr Owen. Nice to see you."

"And you, Mr Lester."

"Young Mr Becker not with you tonight?"

Ryan noticed a slight shadow pass across Ditzy's face. The enigmatic Hilary was certainly a challenge. Ryan felt sorry for the lad, as he knew he'd had a tough time with a former boyfriend, who'd driven him out of a previous job, and then pursued him across the UK. But he couldn't subdue the slightly uncharitable feeling that Becker could ease off on the angst and anguish pose now and again. Ditzy seemed smitten with him, though, so he kept his trap shut.

"No. He's at home polishing his Dewey Decimal system."

Lester let out a surprising bark of laughter. "I must say I'm a Library of Congress man myself."

"Then you and Ryan will have to come to supper soon and let Hilary show you his collection of vintage book stamps …"

"We shall look forward to that," said Lester dryly. "Now, I suppose we'd better get this show on the road."

*~*~*~

"Bloody hell," said Ditzy, stretching his cramped limbs and grimacing. "That had better earn us some bloody remission when we get to hell."

Ryan grinned, tucking the £20 note he'd just won off Ditzy into his wallet. The cliché bingo card had turned out to be a highly entertaining diversion – he'd kicked off in style with "a bit of hard work never hurt anyone" and won in the last five minutes when the final speaker had intoned gravely "the youth of today don't know they're born …" Lester, sitting up on the stage, had a thinly-disguised look of martyrdom on his face.

"Come on, you've heard worse than that at regimental dinners," said Ryan.

"At least those didn't look like a line of heart attacks waiting to happen …"

"Apart from Major-General Foxton-Smith."

"Yeah, well, there's an exception to every rule. Now where's this grub? Earth to Niall, come in please …"

Niall, who'd gruffly declined to take part in the bingo, but whose deadpan features had shown a trace of a smile at one or two of the more outrageous clichés, was staring into the middle distance. They followed his gaze to where Jenny Lewis was chatting too brightly to one of the visitors.

Ditzy rolled his eyes. "Shall we go and rescue Jenny, then stage a ram-raid on the food before the dignitaries hoover the lot down?"

Niall shrugged, but trailed after them as they went to do their good deed for the evening.

Jenny beamed at them, made her apologies to one of the red-faced codgers who clearly didn't understand the concept of personal space, then swept through into the side room where the buffet had been laid out. Ditzy liberated some glasses of wine and passed her one.

Jenny took a mouthful and sighed happily. "You, gentlemen, were a most welcome sight. That chap had just invited me back to see his spanners and sprockets. Oh, that's very kind, Niall. Bless your little cotton socks." She selected a canapé from the overflowing plate that had been thrust awkwardly into her hand, and ate it with evident enjoyment. Niall had gone a touch pink around the gills at the compliment.

Ryan had to admit that the food was a vast improvement on the usual university buffet of curled-up sandwiches, minuscule rolls, unidentified breaded snacks and a couple of aged pieces of fruit. He tucked in and watched as Lester worked the room with practised ease.

"I hear yon fancy-pants chap is a poofter …"

The voice behind them was loud and Yorkshire. 

"Buggers get everywhere, so to speak."

The second voice was the same.

"Bloody disgrace, if you ask me. They'll be wanting to marry next."

Ryan froze, and next to him, Ditzy did the same. Jenny had spun around to see who'd said it, and was clearly weighing up whether to say something. Before she could decide, though, a flat voice which suddenly got more Yorkshire by the word, said: "And what's it to you two?"

Ryan closed his eyes momentarily. He had a sudden vision of Niall skewering the two old bigots to the wall with one of his knives.

One of the blokes went to open his mouth, saw the look in Niall's eyes, and closed it again. His mate, though, lacked the basic rules of self-preservation. 

"It's nowt to do with you, sonny. Or are you one of them as well?"

"Even if I was, it wouldn't be any of your business, mister. In fact, what other people do in their private lives is nowt to do with you, particularly when you're a guest here. So sup up and bugger off."

"You'll be waving goodbye to your job, sonny, when I have a word with the vice chancellor. He's a personal friend of mine."

"Good luck on finding him, as the bugger's never here. He was last spotted somewhere in the Maldives on a recruitment junket. And his deputy, who does all the work around here, is the bloke you've just insulted. So don't let the door hit your arses on the way out…" 

"My hero," camped Ryan, as the two blokes puttered off across the room towards the door, muttering darkly as they went.

"I hate fucking bad manners," muttered Niall, liberating a handful of smoked salmon sandwiches from the buffet.

"Seriously. Thanks, mate."

"Well done, Niall. I shall make sure they're not invited again," said Jenny, touching his arm.

Niall went pink around the gills again, and said, all in a rush: "Willyoucomeandhaveadrinkwithmesometime?"

"I'd like that. I'm free this weekend, if that suits you. Now I'll be back in a sec. Let me go and brief James on the lack of manners of some of our guests."

Ditzy and Ryan high-fived, Ditzy commenting that £150 was now his and the drinks were on him. Ryan, scanning the buffet table in anticipation of a second visit, resolved to hold him to that. Ditzy was always unbearable when he was right.


End file.
